


how long this love can hold its breath

by sevener



Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Breathplay, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-11-02 02:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20587010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevener/pseuds/sevener
Summary: There’s something in Theo’s face, in his eyes when they first start touching each other, that makes Calum swallow every aching word he has sitting at the back of his throat.





	how long this love can hold its breath

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of housekeeping;  
(i) Any feelings of deja-vu while reading are likely due to the fact that I've plagiarized myself; this was originally a fanfic I wrote a couple years ago for an RPF fandom, I decided I liked it better like this.  
(ii) Content Warning: While not explicit, there are references to some light breathplay; both characters are inexperienced, and there is an implication that these acts are not being conducted as safely as they should be.

> “I’ve hoarded your name in my mouth for months. My throat is a beehive pitched in the river. Look! Look how long this love can hold its breath.”
> 
> \- Sierra DeMulder, from “Your Love Finds Its Way Back” in _Today Means Amen_

Calum wakes up too early with an ache in his chest, right behind his heart, burning like bile in his throat. He ignores it.

It’s a Saturday, which means he should maybe start thinking about all the essays he’s supposed to have started but also means he definitely won’t look at any of it until late Sunday evening. The sun is up, streaming through a crack in his curtains. Cal can tell without rolling over that it’s still well before noon, his room not yet hot and stuffy.

It’s one of those days where Calum knows that he won’t be able to properly fall back asleep again - is too aware of his own breathing when he shuts his eyes. Getting up seems like a lot of effort though, and it’s the weekend, so Calum can afford to be lazy.

He lets his eyelids fall shut again, briefly considers jerking off. The thought instantly conjures up the familiar feeling of lips against his collarbone, drawing blood to the surface, marking him up – but not where anyone could easily see, ask questions about. Strong, wide hands squeezing at his waist, pressing briefly into his hip bones before wrapping around his dick. Calum opens his eyes. 

Usually he’d be decently hard by now, be palming himself through his shorts and maybe teasing at one of his nipples before giving in and wrapping a hand around himself, going at it fast and dirty and a little bit too dry because it's the morning and he can’t be bothered for proper lube. But today he’s barely got a semi, finds it hard to get it up when all of those memories are accompanied by a little bit of shame curling at the bottom of his stomach, sitting sour on the back of his tongue.

Calum frowns and spits into his hand with determination, kicks off his underwear and wraps a hand around himself. After a few strokes he feels himself fatten up a bit more and grunts softly; he can do this, doesn’t need anybody else to get off. Doesn’t need him. Calum doesn’t need his mouth or his hands or his thigh slotted in between Calum’s own, doesn’t need the press of his hips or the weight of his body pushing Calum into the mattress, and definitely doesn’t need his voice muttering obscene promises while he jerks Calum off in the bathroom of some dingy pub.

His hips are arching off the bed now, pushing up into his own palm as Calum seeks release. His motions are getting a bit sloppy, dick leaking over his fingertips as he tightens his grip - but as close as he is Calum can feel something missing, knows he needs something else, just a little bit more to push him over the edge. 

Calum sighs and brings his pointer finger up to his mouth, sucks on it hard before adding another, tonguing down over the skin of his knuckles, teasing. Then, finally, on an upstroke he pushes them deep towards the back of his throat. The slight kick of what’s left of his gag-reflex is echoed by the pull in his gut as his fingers push into the back of his mouth, sparks shooting up from the base of his spine. It’s not the same as when _he_ \- when someone else does it, but it’s close enough that when Calum reaches down with a spit-slick hand his orgasm is punched out of him after only a few urgent tugs.

_Theo_

The name gets twisted into a moan, half-shouted into the emptiness of his room before Calum can clench his teeth against it. 

The crashing wave of his orgasm pulls up instantly against the raging hollowness in his chest, emptier now that he’s given himself away, even just to the walls of his own room. Calum presses his teeth viciously into his tongue and focuses on the pain, ignores the thoughts clawing at the back of his mind, _pathetic, desperate, needy, embarrassing, taking whatever you can get. does he even want you?, needy, needy, needy-_

Fuck. If his brain would just shut the fuck up. 

Calum tries his best to think of absolutely nothing as he wills his breathing to come down, feeling empty but completely unsatisfied - all of the good endorphins from his release were swept away instantly by the tide of his racing thoughts. 

Eventually the sensation of cool come on his skin is too much too bear and Calum makes himself sit up, hunts around and is vaguely disgusted with himself when the best thing he can find to clean up is an old sock, then decides it’s time for breakfast - mostly because it’s the most immediate alternative to lying there feeling sorry for himself. He slips a bit on some stray papers and then again while trying to separate his phone from its charger, but eventually makes it out of his room and into the kitchen without incident.

Cereal is easy. Calum brings his bowl into the living room and turns on the TV, finds a replay of last week’s Senators game and unlocks his phone. There are four texts from last night.

Levee Lads  🍻

Riles: stayin at lukeys ;)))

Theo(retical): Caalluuuuuuum

Theo(retical): u wanna hang?

Theo(retical): fine i see how it is >:(

Calum half-heartedly tosses his phone onto the couch beside him without answering and shoves some cereal into his mouth. It’s somehow already gone halfway soggy, which he determinedly ignores as he chokes it down, glaring at the television as if the Sens beating the shit out of the Islanders is personally offending him. He decidedly does not think about the last time Theo wanted to ‘hang’ (about the brush of his lips to the corner of Calum’s mouth before Theo rolled off and promptly fell asleep, about how Calum could feel the almost-kiss tucked there like a secret until the next morning, about how in the darkness of his room he felt bold enough to settle his arm carefully against the line of Theo’s back, about how the empty bed the next morning made him feel dirtier than the cum that had crusted over on his stomach… he doesn’t think about any of it.)

He stares at his phone out of the corner of his eye for a good five minutes before finally caving and picking it back up again.

Levee Lads  🍻

Gollum: hope u used protection

Gollum: t u can come ovr now if u want

Calum hits send on the last text, then throws his phone down again before he can overthink why he just did that. Theo probably isn’t even up yet, and he probably has like, work and stuff today, and even if he did come over nothing would happen right? It’s early, it’s before noon and for as long as they’ve had this… _this_ between them they’ve never once done anything at Calum’s house; it’s always been quick handjobs in the bathroom at some over-pretentious club, rubbing off against each other on Theo’s couch after a few beers, Calum going down on his knees in the footwell of Theo’s piece of shit car.

Fuck I mean they hadn't even properly kissed - if you don’t count the fleeting press of absentminded lips after a good handy, which Calum doesn’t- and Calum was already tired. Tired of Theo’s bullshit smiling face and his big hands and his thick cock and thinking about all three of those things all the goddamn time and goddammit, he’s never needed the comfort of kissing or snuggling or staying the night before but there’s something about Theo that makes him need like nothing else.

So yeah, maybe he has a bit of a (huge) thing for the guy he’s been bro-fucking for the past three months, and it _is_ bro-fucking, that he’s certain of. Theo has stayed well clear of his ass apart from a few good squeezes now and again, and Calum has been involved in enough “just buddies” relationships to know what that means. Still, just because he _knows_ doesn’t mean he’s able to stop himself from wanting more, especially when he’s never felt better, never felt safer, than with Theo’s weight pressing all the air out of his lungs, his strong fingers wrapped confidently around the column of Calum’s throat.

He’s not dumb enough not to realize that the stuff that they do together is different; Calum’s never gotten off with someone who makes his head feel like it’s coming loose from his shoulders while he’s swallowing around their cock. He knows they need to talk about what they’re doing, both because he’s done enough research into the choking thing online that he suspects they might be doing it wrong and because Calum might want to get in on kissing Theo’s actual mouth. Y'know, casually. It’s whatever.

And talking about it shouldn’t be a problem, except for the clinical way that Theo initiates things between them, the half-repressed flinch away from Calum’s hands when he dares to make the first move, the cold sheets that Calum wakes up to in the morning on the off days where they actually make it to a bed. There’s something in Theo’s face, in his eyes when they first start touching each other, every time, without fail, that makes Calum swallow every aching word he has sitting at the back of his throat. It makes him feel certain that Theo already knows what he wants to say, knows and is pleading with Calum not to say it.

Calum carefully puts down his cereal, pulls his legs up to his chest and buries his face in his arms. His throat is dry, and there’s a burning sensation pressing at the back of his eyes. _This is ridiculous_ he thinks, before taking a shuddering breath. Then another. In. Out. In. Out. He outright fucking _refuses _to cry over this shit, over a stupid FWB hookup.

If Riley were here to see this right now, if Calum ever told him about any of this, Calum knows he would have only one word to say about this whole thing; dramatic. Calum knows logically that Theo isn’t a total asshole, they’re _friends, _and they still manage to hang out normally without crawling all over each other, hence the _bro_-fucking. Calum just sometimes lets the aching feeling in his chest get the best of him, because it reminds him too sharply of the look in Theo’s eyes after he’s kissed a mark into the delicate brown skin of Calum’s thigh.

His phone buzzes and he grabs it quickly.

Levee Lads  🍻

Theo(retical): C u in ten

Anticipation mixes with the gross feeling in Calum’s chest, churning against the lump of cereal in his stomach. He looks down at his boxers and sweatshirt, stained with what is probably barbecue sauce but technically _could_ also be blood. It feels like too much effort to go upstairs and change, plus that would be weird because then it’d be like Calum put in effort to look good for Theo. Which is weird, and not bros. Except the stain is really fucking gross and Calum’s going to be thinking about it the whole time if he doesn’t change.

In the end Calum ends up running around the living room for five minutes before he spots a t-shirt on the floor that most likely belongs to Riley and most likely hasn’t been washed in, well, ever but doesn’t actively smell. He tugs it on just as there’s a knock at the door, glancing down to see the words _White Boy Wasted _printed in block letters across his chest. Fucking Riley. 

Before Calum can fully rethink his taste in roommates Theo is barging in, two coffee cups in hand and a huge smile on his sun-kissed face - tanned and freckled despite it being mid-November in fucking _Toronto_. Calum feels his heart start to beat double time against his ribcage and silently prays that his face is doing something normal when he returns Theo’s greeting.

“Are Riley and Luke fucking?” Theo asks as he toes off his shoes. Calum snorts.

“Probably. I’m hoping I’ll never see or hear anything to confirm that though.” 

Theo hands Calum his drink and flops down on the couch. “Sorry dude but if they come over here to do it you’re definitely gonna hear something, Luke is the loudest masturbator I’ve ever met. Seriously, I’d be impressed if it weren’t so fucking obnoxious.” 

Calum laughs and takes a sip of his drink, which turns out to be hot chocolate, then wonders if Theo remembered him saying that he prefers cocoa to coffee or if it was just a coincidence. The satisfied smirk that unfolds on his face when Calum takes an extra long sip makes him think it was maybe on purpose. Calum quickly makes himself turn away from the warmth in those brown eyes.

Theo picks up the remote and starts flicking through the channels, stopping on some stupid reality show he’d never publicly admit to watching just as Calum finally relaxes into the couch. He startles a bit when Theo’s feet land indelicately on his lap, and when he glances over Theo is already looking at him, a shit-eating grin on his face as he launches into a terrible impersonation of the contestant doing a confessional on-screen. 

His deep voice washes over Calum, steady and sure, settling Calum’s scattered thoughts. For the first time this morning he feels able to sit still, the ache in his chest eclipsed by simple contented warmth. Just being here, right here on this couch, pinned down by the weight of Theo’s legs, by the weight of his gaze, feels like everything - and nothing; such a nothing moment, another Saturday morning about to be wasted on bad TV and video games. Calum will probably kick Theo’s ass at NHL11, and Theo will probably drag them out to some hipster microbrewery for lunch just to complain about how hipster everything is, even as he shells out 20 bucks for a hamburger.

And maybe they’ll have a late night, go out to the grimy Irish pub on the edge of campus, drink too much and dance with other people but somehow, inevitably, go home with each other. Or maybe Calum will suddenly develop an instinct for self-preservation and send Theo home after lunch, work on the ethics paper that he really should have started by now. 

But right now he doesn’t have to think about that, can just sit here with his hand on Theo’s ankle where the cuff of his jeans has ridden up, thumb brushing the bottom edge of Theo’s tattoo - a carnation in bloom, Callum knows, done in black ink just like the rest of Theo’s pieces - and sip his hot chocolate. 

He lets the familiar taste comfort him even as the sweetness of it catches at the back of his throat, begs himself not to overthink things, just this once. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated! ))


End file.
